


Fear Not

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Bad end, F/F, Impregnation, Mind Break, Non-Consensual, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-10-05 10:07:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20487140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: "Rox." His voice was crystal clear and smooth as fine-grit sandpaper, as it usually was, fully prepared to deliver the latest intel on whatever target Roxy was hunting, except today, it was nothing in particular. The thought that, maybe, maybe? She had found her quarry of choice was a thought that made her heart play leapfrog with itself a couple of beats back and forth. "I've got the good news you've been waiting all cycle to hear.""If this is about what I think it's about, Dirky babe, I'm gonna fling a knife through the slip and bean you right in the head with it."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoxyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxyPop/gifts).

> Commission for [RoxyPop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoxyPop)

Ophiuchus slipped by with the humming sound of slipstream engines purring their cool plasma whine through Roxy Lalonde's little one-girl sloop. From this angle, of course, determining any Terran constellations with accuracy was impossible. Even only a parsec or two out from the home system, the common stellar clusters turned to indistinct mash, every little colony, base, and habitat having its own star-system slideshow to guide the nights by. As a freelancer, though, Roxy had no constellations to call her own, but simply the endless white pinpricks of space in every direction she could look. Occasionally, if she looked long enough, they could form a coherent image, especially when the infinite motion of slipstream pulled them apart and pushed them together into color-stretched distortions of their original shapes.

But no, the spare stars formed no such tapestries to her. She was, for all intents and purposes, alone in the void -- just her and her cargo bay, along with anything inside that. A couple of days ago, that was an Alternian, captured during her rare moments of unsavory work as a bounty hunter and returned to the local Coalition outpost. Hopefully, though, one day there'd be a Cherub in there.

Roxy Lalonde was an alien hunter by trade, bounty hunter by necessity, and hunter if you needed to boil it down to a single, snappy word. Like the old-Earth anime "Space Dandy", she traveled the universe, mostly by her lonesome, searching for new and exotic alien lifeforms to track, nab, and send a genetic sample to the local Coalition outpost. If the population size was large enough, and she really needed the live specimen money, she'd take one for a ride with her in her ship, all the way to Coalition space, where she'd always be able to find a buyer. Her usual mate in this affair was one aptly named Jake English, a sort of old-world colonial type with a penchant for big game hunter stylings, and more than his fair share of credits to throw around like they were nothing. What exactly Jake and his elder sibling did with them was really none of her concern, just so long as she kept enough money to avoid CrockerCorp attention in her pockets.

If she had her way, she'd just park down on a planet and observe. Take notes of their diet and environment, their breeding habits, their social structure, everything about them, and just file away that information in a galactic library. Sometimes, when one John Egbert had the spare cash, he'd pay her to do just that, although not because it was a big deal for him, but mostly because he knew she'd like to get paid for something she'd be doing anyway. What a dork. Shame he wasn't her type. Still, to be a wandering xenobiologist, studying new and interesting species, unperturbed with the vagaries of monetary compensation, now that would be the ideal life for her.

And really, when it came to achieving her dream, there was only one quarry that would do. The elusive _Cherubim Xenophobus_, or, in actual person talk, a Cherub. Widely sought due to their planet-ending psionic potential, Cherubs were always on the bounty board for a million and one different reasons. Chief among them was, of course, the aforementioned planet-ending psionic powers: A number of CrockerCorp moon-cracker ships used imprisoned Cherubs in their mineral harvesting operations, a fate that always struck Roxy as particularly barbaric. If you really had to call her something, you could probably call Roxy Lalonde a Cherub fangirl? Or maybe a Cherub right's activist. She had only one live specimen bounty she ever planned on filling with a Cherub, and that was exchanging them to the Coalition's Xenogeneology Vault, a growing organization containing genetic samples from all over the galaxy, in the case of some kind of galactic biosphere emergency necessitating restarting from scratch.

Until she could do that, she figured if she saw a Cherub she might try to tap some of their feedback to fill a psionic battery or twelve dozen. Theoretically, her cargo hold could handle a Cherub, but they were rare enough that nobody even knew the entirety of their capabilities, hence her desire to just sit down with one and study them. She knew, from what little's been gleaned, that they're capable of surviving the vacuum of space just fine, that they can crack planets in half more or less at a whim (and do so once every couple of decades to feast on ferrous core material), that they are both sentient and solitary, and that that's about it. Their breeding habits, general personalities, even if they had a language was a pure unknown spot.

Can you imagine being the first xenobiologist to find all this stuff? Much less the first one to write it down and share it with the world? Not only would the personal achievement scales be absolutely off the charts, but, and not to sound like a greedy capitalist, can you imagine all the Jovian Hyperramen you could buy with that money? She'd finally be able to take off for a couple of years and just go for studying, rather than capture. To get a Cherub into the Xenogeneology Vault would change Roxy's life forever.

To make a long story short, then -- yeah, she was on the hunt for Cherubs.

So, you can imagine her delight and surprise when her info source on all the latest and greatest galactic news hit her up out of the blue. Dirk Strider's glassy voice on slipwave was never an unwelcome sound to Roxy's ears, but on the other hand, he had never contacted her before. Purely theoretically, they had each other's beacon frequencies, and sure, Dirk could talk to her if he found any need for it, but the information broker was more of a "you go to him" sort of fellow, rather than the other way around. Maybe something about the power high it gave him, Roxy didn't know, she never really had the time to question it in-depth. To get a message out of the blue from Dirk Strider was strange, to say the least.

"Rox." His voice was crystal clear and smooth as fine-grit sandpaper, as it usually was, fully prepared to deliver the latest intel on whatever target Roxy was hunting, except today, it was nothing in particular. The thought that, maybe, maybe? She had found her quarry of choice was a thought that made her heart play leapfrog with itself a couple of beats back and forth. "I've got the good news you've been waiting all cycle to hear."

"If this is about what I think it's about, Dirky babe, I'm gonna fling a knife through the slip and bean you right in the head with it." Roxy said, brushing curled, blonde bangs out of her face, removing from her vision a field of faded bleached-pink. Her short-clipped nails gently scraped across the surface of her scalp as she wore herself a more professional hairdo, even for the voice-only chat exchange. Something a little more slicked back and business friendly. She rolled her shoulders and grabbed at the wrists of her flight suit, tight, shiny material clinging to her every inch in a way that was distinctly unprofessional. Then again, nobody ever does face-to-face meetings in a flight suit, so she figured she was safe from any sudden criticisms of her appearance, for the time being.

"Yeah, but then I can't tell you about the Cherub on Echidna IV, and you know of my casual deathwish, so who'd be the real loser here? I'd say you." Dirk said, and she could feel the smugness dripping out of every pore like sweat from a Sirius sunrise. Ugh. What a louse, that Dirk Strider. She'd kill for him in a second.

"...Fine. How much?" Roxy asked, deflating herself onto her chair, waiting for some exorbitant sum to come her way and pelt her brain with little pebbles of lingering debt.

"No up-front charge. 5% of whatever you make selling her to the Coalition." Dirk said, and Roxy's heart did a little double take of a leap. If it had been drinking coffee, it would have done a spit take.

"5%!? That's... Awfully generous of you. What's your game?" Roxy asked, suspicion and excitement intermingling into one particularly potent eyebrow raise..

Dirk laughed a couple of times, that awful, snarky laugh that she hated so much. "No catch. 5% of several billion credits is still several million. You take your lion's share, you know I don't like having that much anyway. Too much attention."

"Whatever. You better not be fucking with me on this, Dirk Strider, or so help me God we're gonna have to arrange a meeting with your hard drive and these hands."

"Come on, Roxy. Would I lie to you about something like this?"


	2. Chapter 2

Echidna IV.

A wretched hive of scum and -- No, not really.

The main issue was that Echidna IV didn't have much of anything at all. It wasn't that it was particularly barren, since the planet was teeming with life of all kinds, but more the fact that nobody ever wanted to be there. A thick, hothouse planet, cooking at just the right distance from its local star to keep it at a balmy 40-45 degrees Celsius at all times. If there was one word a potential tourist (why, God, why?) would have for that damned place, it was that it was sweaty. The sort of place Terrans used to think Venus was like, before they managed to invent shit like satellites, and decent telescopes worth a damn. A blue-green jungle with nothing of value. No radioactive ores. No particularly interesting xenoforms. Not even an intriguing magnetosphere like its near stellar neighbor, Typhon II.

But.

There was a Cherub.

Of course, this relied on Dirk's intel being correct, but if it were, then, yes, there was a Cherub on Echidna IV. Roxy's little cruiser touched down in the one place cleared for sapient habitation, a little jungle outpost sectioned out into climate controlled chunks, domed off from the outside world by a thin glass shell, and kept awake by the cutest little mechanical custodians this side of Hephaestus VII. Slick, rubbery little things, gears kept greased by the natural humidity and heat, running day in and day out to accommodate the spare observers that make their way to this boring, boring hellhole. Roxy's sloop rattled and shuddered a bit when she hit the docks, and the creeping tube of an airlock vent made its way to her exit hatch. Then, it was just a hop, skip, and a jump into the Terran observation deck.

Unsurprisingly, she was alone. An Alternian looked at her for a moment from the neighboring chamber. Not that she hadn't slung her fair share of Alternians around the block, but in this kind of pressurized environment, their arsenic protein base and sulfurous atmosphere would kill her if not make her intensely uncomfortable. That's why you always kiss with helmets on, kids. Still, Roxy made sure to peek through the windows as she stripped out of her piloting gear and into her scoutsuit, maybe even giving the ruddy, long-haired Rustblood a bit of a show while she wiggled into the skin-tight material. It was a great thing, of course, that Terrans and Alternians were anatomically similar enough that they could get turned on by the sight of each other.

Roxy found a little unused holo-pad and scribbled down her bounty ID onto it, pressing it to the hatch's glass window. Once the Alternian made her way over, curled horns and all, and squinted her eyes at Roxy's piss-poor Alternian script, she took her sweet time memorizing Roxy's number. Roxy, for what it was worth, was content to let the holo-pad hang there while she finished buckling and strapping all of her equipment and ventilators into her scoutsuit.

She felt the hiss of cool air running through microscopically small silicon caterpillars, clothes that literally breathed, the immediate relief of the wet hothouse being brought down by the chill wicking away sweat into the suit. The sweat itself, recycled back through the suit's veins, into a small canister, purified _thoroughly_ (Roxy was kinky, but not "drink-her-own-sweat" kinky, so she splurged a bit for the better kind of purifiers), to be recycled back into her mouth. Dehydration was a stunningly real problem on hothouse planets, as was fainting due to heat exhaustion and then dying, so extra precautions had to be taken at all times.

Once the Alternian knocked twice on her door, Roxy gave her a little wave and pulled the holo-pad off, scrubbing it of its text and setting it back down while she watched the Alternian disappear into her own ship. Shame to see her go.

Roxy went and grabbed her helmet, a tight little number that clasped over her face and under the neck of her suit, applying a little bonding gel to make it smoother. Seal any molecule-sized cracks away. She pulled up the faceplate, adjusted the drinking tubes and breathing tubes -- the former got tucked into the sides of her lower gums, and the latter, somewhere along the roof of her mouth, a sensation you got used to fast in space -- and then cranked it shut and tight. Fasteners on, no need to asphyxiate from a planet with a methane atmosphere, lest Dirk come and laugh at your body for dying to fart gas. Strap, strap, strap, a tap on the side and the heads up display made itself manifest.

Wasn't the future neat?

Roxy was excessively grateful that not only were psionics able to be quantitatively measured, but that they were easily detectable at a distance. That wasn't to say that her trip to the cave where the Cherub was hiding wasn't going to take about a day of travel via high-speed shuttle-sled from her ship, considering the size of this planet and her high gravity (1.4 Terran g's, approximately, which was still less than expected for a super-Earth the size of Echidna IV). There was just enough room for a week's worth of provisions, the sled designed to park down somewhere and act as a bed, a tent, and a stable atmosphere should the need arise for Roxy to not choke to death on methane.

She watched the environment rocket by with the same frightening speed that it always did in one of these sleds. Slipshod and hard to grasp, much in the way that a fleeting thought left your mind wondering what you were doing when you entered a room and then forgot. It was simply going by too fast to notice, outside of the general blurs of color, bright greens and shockingly vivid reds and all the shades of orange, yellow, and brown in between. Like an inverted autumn back on Earth. Everything whizzed by while she got to lay back and watch a virtua vid on her faceplate. An old favorite, of course.

To the outside observer, the Cherub's lair was no different than any of the other million caverns on this planet -- coated in a fine layer of orange-yellow moss, dripping reddish sap along the ground, coated in a second fine layer of atmospheric condensate. The air was hot and still, like the rest of the air here, and the only thing separating this place from the rest of them was the way Roxy felt when she stepped out of her shuttle-sled. Psionic potential was quantifiable, and thus measurable, but the ability to detect it finely and acutely was still in the hands of only the most well-paid alien hunters, of which Roxy was distinctly not.

That being said, she knew a telekinetic net when she felt one. There was nothing in any of the literature about Cherubs possessing telepathy, but they could still instinctively avoid or move towards conflict when necessary, and a telekinetic net would be a reasonable explanation as to how that process occurred. Obviously, this meant that just by showing up, the Cherub knew Roxy was here. She could feel the slight resistance in the air, the way it shifted around her every motion, like a fly disturbing an immense spider's even larger web without getting caught in the strands. Still enough to let the spider know that there was a tasty morsel, and not enough resistance to trap her. Yet.

She had no intentions of letting it get that far, for what it was worth.

Roxy hopped out of the shuttle, tapping it twice on the side to activate the following mode. Couldn't hurt to have it following behind her just in case she needed to shoot a large hypersonic projectile at a Cherub. That being said, she also drew a small net gun from the side, unfolding it into its pistol-like form, and then a second, much larger one. More like a net cannon, with titanium-21 bonded nets. Honestly, she didn't think it would do that much good, so she also brought an anti-psionic shield and slapped it onto her suit. Sure, it would make her glow like a beacon to a bunch of moths, but it was better than getting shorn in half. Maybe only crumpled in half instead. Yeah. That was an improvement.

Honestly, her best recourse was to just talk to the damn thing. Instinctive telepathy wasn't an unknown thing, and the neuropsionic basis for it was pretty much the origin of modern xenolinguistic translators, so maybe something as naturally psionic as a Cherub could just... Understand her. Greenish-reddish lichens and mosses and dripping, drooling fungi reached their way down from the cave's ceiling, while the lights on Roxy's suit swept out arcs in front of her. It was hard not to breathe heavy as shit, given her situation. She was really, genuinely frightened.

The pressure of the Cherub's telekinetic net only got stronger. It went at first from a stiff breeze to something more akin to moving in molasses the further inside she went. Rappelling gear helped her climb down into the depths of the cavernous, fungal abyss.

Oh yes.

Genuine fear, how she missed you.

There was a whole adventure, almost, several hours spent spelunking. Cutting through rock with plasma torches, hauling her hovering equipment sack along with her. Eventually, she reached a spot with no moss or light left, and moving what was at least a kilometer or two underground in a sweaty jungle planet inside a planet-buster's telekinetic net was... Well, let's just say it was as exhausting as that run on sentence was. So, she took a little break. Had a snack in her shuttle sled. Took a nap.

Got back up a couple hours later, with a Cherub staring directly at her.

Roxy knew that the last thing you wanted to do with most alien species was to scream, but she couldn't help that feeling welling up inside of her throat. Unabridged fear, in a dozen and one volumes. A horrific visage of green skin pulled taut over a mammalian skull. Green eyes, cheek sacs filled with lime blood, puffed out like a particularly petulant child, or an Exovenusian Blast Frog. The Cherub reached out a hand, fingers with one joint more than Roxy's own, long palms, visible cords of muscles rippling underneath that too-tight green skin, and rapped twice on Roxy's shuttle sled. Two thick, chiming tings. Roxy covered one mouth, even though a hand over her faceplate wouldn't mean anything, and gently, shyly waved with the other hand.

It waved back. Then, the Cherub pried the latches open and depressurized the inside of the shuttle sled, reaching its long, gibbon-like arms around a whimpering Roxy and pulling her out. It almost cradled her, holding her up with one arm, casually, while beginning to walk down into the cave. The sled slowly hovered behind, Roxy still able to hear its humming. The Cherub barely gave her a second look as it carried her along and into a somewhat brightly lit cavern, walls and floors swallowed by fungus and lichen, and...

Laid her down upon the floor. Soft, squishy, and... vaguely comfortable? Roxy could smell the humidity in the air, barely able to move through the Cherub's web, until suddenly, she could again. The Cherub pulling its net back up? The air was full of heavy scent, even managing to get its way through Roxy's filters, some kind of meaty, heavy smell. She was soaked inside her suit from the sweat, even as it slipped through the surface and wicked away into the saturated atmosphere of the cave.

Roxy adjusted herself, trying not to freak out. It was about then that she noticed the Cherub's gigantic dick, green, heavy, and pendulous, starting to harden between its legs.


	3. Chapter 3

Roxy didn't dare scream.

Not for lack of trying, though. But, generally, when a creature of such a high destructive psionic index is around, the last thing you want to do to startle it.

But didn't mean she didn't want to scream. That she didn't want to struggle and cry out as one of the Cherub's talons reached for her, dragging so tenderly up her suit, ripping a jagged line in her crotch. The atmosphere flooded in, flushed against Roxy's skin, while the rest of her suit detected the tear and immediately suctioned itself harder to Roxy's skin to prevent air from entering the rest. Good for Roxy, sarcastically narrated, as it started squeezing her exposed crotch, almost prying it open, the Cherub staring, curious and inquisitive.

Then, using its bulk to press Roxy a little further into her mossy mattress, the Cherub began to press its length up against Roxy's slit. One thing she didn't notice, too busy sobbing to herself, was how _wet_ she was, and she couldn't possibly tell you why. She was possibly the least aroused she had been in her life, outside of that one time Dirk had done a strip tease for her, but her body had begun reacting to something. Was it that meaty scent in the air, getting sucked into her filtration system and pressed right up against her nose? Was something just wrong with Roxy? Was it something to do with how the suit had begun squeezing her?

There would be time to theorize about it later. Right now, Roxy just silently slapped her hands over her helmet uselessly, as if she could somehow cover the tiny noises coming out of her mouth through the layer of glass, and the Cherub began to slowly work its hardening length into her.

It was so hard not to yell. To shriek, to cry, to do anything at all, but if she startled this beast she could be _atomized_ in an instant. It was like being fucked at gunpoint except the gun was a nuclear missile. And that wasn't even the worst part of it all, no, the worst part was how _gentle_ it was. How the Cherub was practically cradling her up against the mossy rocks, how her dark green silhouette blotted out the bio-luminescent lichens in front of her, even as Roxy was penetrated. It was almost like the Cherub knew just how frail Roxy was in comparison. Like the Cherub was treating her like a fragile package.

Roxy, of course, did not know that this was exactly the case. Very few have met a Cherub and lived to tell the tale, of course, so very few could tell you about its tendency for genetic hybridization. But the Cherubs knew, that the world was made of glass, and only by treating it with the lightest of touch could they bear fruit in the wombs of alien species. Oh yes, the Cherub would take very good care of Roxy, even if she very much did not want that.

But, right now, Roxy knew nothing of the sort.

What she did know was silent, choked sobs, fits and sputters, and the slick, sloped, twitching length being pushed up inside of her, and the shame covering her face much better than her hands ever could. She knew the heat of the Cherub bearing down on her, that sickly sweet, meaty scent filling her ventilator, the agonizing feeling of being pulled down on this _thing_, far bigger than any toy she'd ever played with, her legs spreading out wider just to accommodate. Frankly, the whole situation sucked balls.

She could feel the Cherub, feel her so much, feel her everywhere. Its body heat seeping through Roxy's suit, its throbbing length starting to pulse inside of Roxy as it stretched her farther than she had ever gone. Roxy felt a spike of pain jump through her. Maybe something had torn a little, but she didn't want to look or check, because all she could feel was that vile warmth across her body, inside of her. It was surrounding her and suffusing her.

When the Cherub began to thrust, started to pull in and out, gently and gingerly, not forcing Roxy but still forcing Roxy, pinning her down with size rather than brute strength or threatening claws, it made her feel disgusted. Violated in a way she had never experienced before, a way that she lacked the words to adequately describe, and a way that was all encompassing in every sense of the word. Roxy could taste the Cherub's awful scent in her mouth, against her tongue, her lips beginning to grow dry and weary of the choked noises they were dispensing, her throat rebelling against her, hissing itself into near silence. It was arguably worse by the lack of brutality displayed. Roxy was receiving no pleasure from this treatment, and yet her body's natural reactions betrayed her, growing wet for this xenobiological nightmare.

And when the tide came, Roxy could feel it. She could feel the Cherub clenching up, bearing down on her, pressing her further into her mossy rock mattress, curling up around her like a child would curl around their doll for comfort. The Cherub's seed was warm and... excessive. Filling her up. Every nook and cranny and crevice exposed to this disgusting fauna's cum, pumping into her with hard, rough twitches, each one making Roxy hurt a little more. It squeezed up into her until there was no room left, leaving Roxy feeling bloated, the recent purveyor of a three course meal... And then, the Cherub slumped onto her, holding her close, making sure that it was stuck deep inside -- presumably, to avoid spillage. If Roxy was still in the right mind for it, she would consider the adaptation to be exceptionally clever.

On the receiving end, it was not quite as fun.

The Cherub held her close and tight, clinging to her, almost smothering her if it weren't for Roxy's glass visor stopping all the air from getting pressed away. She was caught. Trapped. Utterly fucked in every sense of the word. She sat there for what felt like hours, and when the Cherub finally fell asleep, all of the strength in Roxy's limber body was useless. Either she had been clenching up so much that her muscles were exhausted, or the Cherub was just too heavy to move.

Roxy was stuck.


	4. Postscript

"Roxy? Rox-- Holy hell."

Dirk Strider was absolutely not prepared for what he found on Echidna IV. When he realized that Roxy Lalonde had been missing for about three months now, he figured that he would find a skeleton, or maybe the planet turned into a new asteroid belt from a rampaging Cherub. What he did not expect to find was, in order:

  * A fully alive Roxy, with her shuttle sled still active (long batteries, he supposed)
  * A Cherub that was _not_ tearing him in half at the molecular level at first sight
  * Roxy's suit somehow mostly intact, outside of the crotch (which was absurdly bare)
  * Two... _baby Cherubs_?

To say Dirk was exceptionally confused was an understatement. His sled dangled limply behind him, hovering off its propulsion system, low off the cave floor, high-powered lights sweeping the area. Neither of the two seemed to mind. Roxy gave him a dazed wave, while the Cherub remained fast asleep, snuggled up next to Roxy.

"What in the goddamn?" Dirk spoke in a hushed whisper, trying his best not to awake the giant green psionic monster that was currently cuddling his friend like she was a stuffed animal and it was a particularly horny dog, dick just OUT, jutting out and impudent. "Roxy, I'm here to take you, uh, home. Let's cap this green bastard and get the fuck out of here. Get you your bounty money."

Roxy looked at him like he had three heads. She was busy bouncing two very small baby cherubs up and down in her lap, and when Dirk looked closer, there were pinpricks of bite marks crisscrossing her suit. Her faceplate was caked over with smudged dirt and once-glowing lichens, but cleared enough so that she could see and respond to him, and her response worried Dirk. So, so much.

Putting a finger to her mouth, she shushed him. "Don't wake the kiddies, Dirk!" She whisper-yelled. "Or the mommy. It's nappie times!"

She ran her free arm over the adult Cherub's head, taut green skin pulled over an oversized, vaguely-humanoid, vaguely-serpentine skull. She patted it and rubbed it, with all the affection of someone tousling the hair of their spouse. Dirk sheathed his vibrosword, wondering when exactly he had pulled it out, and looked around nervously. "Uh. Roxy? You... okay?"

"'Course I'm okay, dummy!" She whispered again, bouncing the two baby cherubs a little harder as they looked to start being roused by the noise. "But, uh... We are missing a few amenities, lmao. If I give you, like, a grocery list, can you come back with some stuff?"

Dirk was flabbergasted beyond belief. "Huh?"

"I mean, like... The sled can get me food and stuff, but its all those little shitty little nutrient disk thingies. Would _kill_ for some vodka. Please, Dirky?" Roxy asked, making puppy dog eyes at him, twinkling, fluttering her eyes. "Please?"

"Why can't we just leave?"

Roxy blinked a couple of times in his general direction. She looked dizzy and unfocused. Hazy, but with a smile nonetheless. "Why would I want to leave?"


End file.
